


Guilty Pleasures: A Promdyn Drabble Collection

by invisibledeity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, Blood Play, Drabble Collection, Electrostimulation, Labyrinth AU, M/M, Netorare, Some Crack, Some noncon, Torture, it varies from drabble to drabble, some dubcon, very nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: A collection of (mostly dark, mostly NSFW) drabbles from the past few years that are finding a new home from tumblr. These are mostly quite short, but there are 12 of them.*edit: i lied. there's 13*





	1. Guilty Pleasures

 

Ardyn stands before his prey with a knife in hand. The blond gunman is restrained, arms spread, the way he likes them best. Every inch of skin so easily accessible.

         ‘I don’t believe I’ve told you,’ he says, toying with the tip of the blade against the soft flesh just below the young man’s collarbone. ‘How much I enjoyed my past role.’

         Prompto stares, wide-eyed. Bless him, he looks like he wants to ask. He’s far too afraid though, so Ardyn indulges him.

         ‘My past, as Healer of Lucis. Surely you’re heard the tales.’

He drags the knife across Prompto’s skin before the little gunman can even raise his brows in shock at the revelation. The move is swift and merciless, digging just deep enough to catch a thick vein. Blood, rich in oxygen and oh so gorgeously deep in colour, spills out in a stream. The yell that escapes the boy is harsh, guttural, so raw and pained he’d be forgiven for thinking he’d cut his throat instead.

         Immediately, Ardyn lays aside the knife, moves his hands to the wound, spends a moment to let the thick blood run over his fingers before summoning his inner strength and letting energy shimmer out from his palms. Crossing over the sullied skin, all scintillating and magical as it sets to healing the wound, but dark as midnight in colour. A healer’s touch.

         ‘Shh, shh, there we go, now. Calm yourself, child, I’ll make everything better.’

         Prompto’s frightened cries simmer down into a hushed trembling as the wound heals over, leaving nothing but a dark-gritted scar tissue in its wake. Looks like galaxies. Ardyn surveys his handiwork, pleased. They may have denied his ascension, but they never took away the immense well of power that lay within him. Cruel, really, how he still can’t heal himself. So why not take the chance to relive those saintly days, while he has this subject under his command? Ardyn feels almost guilty, when he thinks about just how much he’s going to mar that clear skin. Almost. But the moment passes, and soon the knife is back in hand for the second round.

 


	2. The Floor Is Lava

 

Another chuckle rang out in the grimy cell. Ardyn was lounging on his chair now, teetering so far back that for a moment it looked like he might fall. He was clutching his sides with one hand, while the other held Prompto’s beloved phone inches from his face. Strung up as he was in the Magitek rig, unable to do even so much as touch his feet to the ground, Prompto could do nothing but watch.

         The old fucker had lost interest in perusing Prompto’s photo album hours ago. But perhaps that was a turn for the worse, because now he had found the Internet.

         It had started with the cringeworthy question. ‘Be so kind as to tell me what a me-me is.’ And now the old devil had gone from cheezburger to Cash Me Outside with the kind of fervour Prompto had only ever seen in toddlers prior to this day.

         Ridiculously Photogenic Guy - ‘Oh, rather like you, no?’

         Thanks Bahamut - ‘Well, I must say, I approve of this one.’

         The Floor Is Lava - ‘You’re already winning at that one, Prompto.’

         The unlucky gunner could strain against his bonds all he liked, but it wouldn’t do a thing to get the phone out of the man’s hands. He wished desperately he hadn’t switched the phone onto battery-saving mode before arriving in Gralea. As it was, the battery life was going to last for hours more.

         ‘Please, Ardyn … just take me down already.’ He sounded tired. He was aware of that. But he was so done with this.

         Now Ardyn smirked, and stood up, still chuckling to himself. He swung closer to Prompto, and sang softly in his ear.

         ‘Always coming from … take me down!’ Another bark of a laugh. ‘Think about it, Prompto.’

         At first, he didn’t quite understand. But the instant the words flipped in his head, the instant he recognised the tune, he groaned.

         Ardyn span on his heel like a delighted child. He sang, louder this time, and all Prompto could do was glower. Once his friends arrived, once he was free… he would ensure Ardyn got payback.

 


	3. Bait and Switch

 

‘He’s not real, Prompto.’

         Ignis is speaking with concern now, and Prompto wishes he’d never mentioned the damn visits in the first place. He shifts in his chair, idly stroking along the handle of his coffee mug.  

         ‘But he was there. He was. He said…’ Prompto bites down on his lower lip, takes a deep breath in, because the next words hurt. ‘He said “Ever at your side.” S’what I said to him, after… After you rescued me.’

         The corner of Ignis’s eyebrow creases slightly, and there’s care hidden in those concerned lines, but he says nothing. He simply sighs, and finishes his coffee. As he stands, stick clattering towards the door, he adds, ‘Just, please be careful, Prompto. Try to get some rest.’

         Then he leaves.

         Prompto feels hollow. He knows Ignis thinks he’s imagining it. There were so many reasons why it didn’t make sense. But last night, and the night before, Noctis had definitely been there.

     He hadn’t shown Ignis the bruises. What would have been the point? _Oh, hey, look man, here’s something to remind you of the fact you can’t see any more?_ Another brutal shove in the face of the things he’d lost while Prompto was apparently having the reunion of his life. It would have been too bitter. Instead he stares down at the marks on his upper arms, thumb idly rubbing the worst one, bringing back some of the pain as he sits there, deep in thought. Felt good to feel something, anything at all, even if it hurt.

         And, really, he didn’t mind the bruises. Both Noct and he had both been so fervent, so needy, that the sex had, inevitably, been violent and painful. It was fine — he hadn’t cared about being prepared, he only wanted Noctis all over him. And Noctis had been alone for so long, in isolation within that damned crystal for two years. It was far too long a time. Yeah — Prompto would do anything to make it better.

         He huffs, finishes his coffee, and leaves the hunters’ bar.

Later that night, he returns to his digs. The small barn settlement just outside Hammerhead; once, years ago, they’d rescued Dave from that nearby hut. Him and Noctis together. And now, again, he is greeted by that familiar shock of black hair, spikes slightly dampened by rain. Noctis must have been waiting outside for hours.

         ‘Dude, you could’ve gone in.’

         ‘I know. But I didn’t want to scare you.’

         Really, Noctis was too sweet.

         He pulls Noctis inside, all too eagerly, and asks him how he’s been.

         ‘Still getting used to being around people,’ Noctis says. ‘Other than you, that is. I… Gods, Prom, I need to touch you.’

         Noctis doesn’t leave Prompto a lot of time to commiserate. He moves closer, threads his arms between Prompto’s, holds fast his waist. He pushes him back against the bed, and Prompto’s legs turn weak. He sits. He’s pushed onto his back.

         Noctis is on top of him now, one knee pressing up into his groin, creating delicious friction. His head bows down and he lifts Prompto’s vest with his teeth, licks upward upon the smooth skin of his belly, tearing clothing with teeth once more to get at his chest, to tease a nipple slowly between ravenous teeth. Under the low gas lamp light in Prompto’s meagre room, he catches sight of the bruises.

         ‘I really did a number on you, didn’t I?’ A grin accompanies the words and that’s new. Prompto blinks.

         ‘I… It was worth it, for…’ He trails off. Doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Tries to pull Noctis closer so he can shrug off the weird moment and kiss him instead. Noctis refuses. He’s still staring at the purple-marked flesh, something close to satisfaction on his face, and Prompto’s trying to remember where he’s seen that gaze before, where he…

         ‘Ever at your side,’ Noctis whispers, and his grin turns wolfish in the yellow light. He’s got him by the wrists now, and in a flash, he pins his arms above his head, digs him into the thin mattress with merciless intent. ‘You know, dear Prompto, you never did stop to think on how I’d wired up every room in that base. I heard every word you said.’

         There’s a tremendous burning beneath Prompto’s skin as he realises what a terrible mistake he’s made. As Noctis’s face shifts above him, he screams.

         ‘Oh, young love,’ Ardyn murmurs, softly, playfully. ‘You’re simply blinkered by it, aren’t you?’

         ‘Fuck!’ Prompto yells, tries to push him off, and is hopelessly unsuccessful. He frets and struggles, then falls slack, whispering in a voice filled with rage. ‘You fucking lied to me…’

         ‘Not entirely.’ Ardyn leans in, crushes him with his weight, speaks close to his jawline, generating shivers. ‘When I said I was lonely, I truly meant it. After all, I have lived in isolation for far longer than your dear Noct. Now indulge me, sweet thing.’

            He digs his teeth into the side of Prompto’s neck, and not for the last time that night, Prompto screams.


	4. Spitting Image

 

Verstael looks up from the open book. Dust coats his fingers and threatens to clog his nostrils but that is the furthest thing from his mind as he looks up at the Chancellor before him.

         ‘You’re as twisted as they say _I_ am,’ he says, although the wry smile he wants to show doesn’t come. The Chancellor laughs.

         ‘Care to explain?’

 _Oh, of course he would make him say it aloud. Of course he would, the sly bastard_. Verstael taps one wizened finger on the dusty page and turns the volume toward the Chancellor. He offers the tome no care; it’s falling apart anyway. And he enjoys the small twitch of Ardyn’s eyebrow as he watches this small piece of history being handled so carelessly. The good Chancellor never did like anyone disrespecting history, and Verstael knows why, he thinks he’s got it all figured out.

         ‘This picture here.’ He points. The spread shows an illustration of a venerated figure — a saint, perhaps, dressed in Royal robes and surrounded by a halo of light. The figure looks, to be rather blunt, exactly like Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, despite the tome being over two thousand years old. And, at the figure’s side is another man, fresh-faced, blond-haired, with a thin, elegant nose and a small, wiry frame. Even with the paper so old and faded, the freckles on the youth’s face are noticeable. And yes, there it is, another insidious smile as Ardyn drinks the image in.

         ‘Mm, yes, they do look rather familiar, don’t they?’

         It’s as good as admitting it. Two thousand years old and a spitting image. Verstael doesn’t care about who the blond boy is, or was, to Ardyn, but he wants to push, to get him to say more. 

         ‘You had more than enough resources to mentor anyone else, but you picked _me_.’ The ‘why’ in his words is implicit, and again, Ardyn laughs, only inches away from patting Verstael on the shoulder. It is almost regrettable, it would almost be _nostalgic_ , if Verstael could allow him such a word.      

         ‘As I have said before, it’s not just your ingenuity that caught my eye. Your genetics are simply _perfect_. If only we could…’ His words trail.

         Verstael is not used to shivering. He doesn’t like it one bit. He looks away, and after a moment, closes the book with a resounding thud. Pushes it over to the far side of his work table. All around, the air is growing colder by the second, and he knows he only has mere minutes before he must rise to finish the power transfer. The whole facility is in lockdown, but yes, his goal can still be achieved, despite the curveball Ardyn is intent on throwing him.

         He clasps his hands together, presses his thumbs into his own forehead where he sits at the workbench, and he says, ‘So, the boy is to come here, is he?’

         Ardyn nods, fiddling idly with the clasp of the nearest incubation tube. His nonchalance is astounding — an excellent cover-up for whatever emotion he’s currently feeling. _Who knows, with this man?_

         ‘It should make for a terribly touching father-son reunion, don’t you think?’ It’s a predictable reply, shifting the focus away from himself and back on to Verstael like that. Ardyn’s eyes glint like a predator’s, and there’s the slightest hint of a disturbance below the surface. No time to tell whether he’s angry, emotionally-compromised, or simply unfazed by the whole exchange, because he’s off, off to the far side of the facility to greet the visitor.        

         Verstael affords one last look around the chamber of clones, all modelled from his own DNA (with small stylistic changes, grâce à Ardyn himself), and at once the truth behind their appearance strikes him and he has to turn away. He won’t have to think about it any more once he turns the machine on, and harvests their plasma. He knows he has been used by Ardyn, but the one small mercy afforded to him is that he is not Prompto Argentum. So let the boy come. It doesn’t matter what he says to him, because whatever Ardyn has planned for the poor runaway clone will be far, far worse.

 

In quite another part of the facility, Ardyn stands idly by as the blond boy stumbles around the entrance chamber, still snow-chilled and rosy-cheeked from his arduous journey here. He’s finding it hard not to interrupt Prompto as he looks for a way to open the door, because by the Gods above, the boy really does look so much like _him_. It’s a small, harrowing moment in which he wishes he had never steered Verstael’s hand into shaping the clones the way he had, because this is too much to bear, and he wants to crush the boy instead, stamp out his existence for even daring to be so similar to the person he once knew. It feels like an affront, and now, in this place, Prompto’s birthplace, the feeling is tenfold stronger than it has been during any previous encounter.

         Ardyn gathers his breath, and strides into view. He parts his lips, and lets his voice ring sonorous in the chill air.

         ‘Don’t you remember me?’

         Prompto’s face is a picture of confusion. He’s so clearly trying to understand, because yes, of course he remembers Ardyn — they only fought on the train mere days ago — but Ardyn’s intonation is so different here, he’s clearly meaning something else. Poor lad can’t figure out what it is, and Ardyn knows that’s the case, he knows there’s no logical reason why a clone of a Niflheim scientist would hold any memory of a man long dead.        

         ‘Aww, all that time we spent together, and you don’t remember a _thing_.’      

         He says it to mess with Prompto, but he doesn’t expect it to hurt quite as much as it does when Prompto says ‘I … I don’t know what you mean.’

         Ardyn smiles, shows his teeth, fences him in against the wall. The urge to stamp out the boy’s presence is, once again, as overwhelming as the urge to _connect_ , to fall into what is, for him, a horribly uncharacteristic nostalgia. He settles for fear in the end, because that is what he knows, and this is what works best.  

         ‘We’ll fix that then, shall we?’


	5. You Could Have Asked

 

‘But I thought we were going to play,’ Noctis says, dangling the chain idly from a finger. He’s leaning into him, one hand on his waist, pressing in, while the chain clinks against the bedside table.       

         Prompto hesitates. _Chains?_ This is more intense than usual. Noctis seems fervent, irritable, even.   

         He stills himself. Maybe he’s just being unfair. He had promised him the evening was theirs. All theirs, no interruptions.  

         ‘We will… we will. I just… gotta replace this film, ‘kay?’

         Noctis smirks. ‘Fine, but you’re gonna pay for it later.’    

         ‘Am I now?’    

         A rattle of the chain is his only answer, and jeez, it makes his pants too tight. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing.          

         The camera can wait. 

         ‘I wanna be the dominant one tonight,’ Noctis says.

         ‘Oh yeah?’ This is a rare thing, but Prompto likes it. Correction: he fucking loves it. So he wheels his way closer to Noctis, hand on hip, showing himself off a little. ‘So show me.’     Noctis grins, and spares no time in wrestling him to the ground. Within seconds the chains are round his wrists and at first he struggles — he likes that — but eventually he gives in, if nothing else just to allow Noctis the time to affix the metal properly. 

         He stares up at Noctis from his position on the floor, and moans as Noctis digs a knee softly, tantalisingly, into his groin. 

         Now he’s pulled up, up onto the bed, and he’s pushed against the headboard. Chain rattles against wood, and before long Noct is pulling the length of it round the post. It’s tight, almost too tight, and he moans again, and this pleases Noctis, he can tell by the shuddering in Noct’s breath and the soft vibration of skin against his own.      

         ‘You’re mine,’ Noctis says as he secures the last link in the chain. ‘And now… you can never leave me.’   

         It’s undeniably hot to hear those words spilling from those seemingly-innocent lips. He knows Noctis has a possessive streak, but it’s never been so prominent as right now. Prompto wants to yearn upward, to tug and fret and do whatever it takes to get Noctis to just say more, but something stops him. 

         Why are Noct’s eyes so amber?   

         Something is wrong.   

         ‘Noct…?’ Noctis smirks, and Prompto realises he’s seen that expression before. On the face of a man who was kind enough to lead them to the Disc of Cauthess, kind enough to show them where mythril might be found. A man with red hair and auburn eyes and a kindly, yet distrustful smile. A man who might look like a king if not for the five’o’clock shadow gracing his chin in disarray.  

         That self-same stubble brushes against Prompto’s cheek now and the scratchy sensation makes him shiver. He’s pretty sure he’s hyperventilating. He can’t move his hands, he can’t move them, and it really hits him, how helpless he is.

         He steels himself, and looks up into those warm eyes, and notices that the rest of the face has changed too, morphed entirely into Chancellor Ardyn Izunia. His body is larger, broader, and how the hell did that happen?         

         Fuck. He’d be lying if he said Ardyn wasn’t at least a little bit hot, but… he hadn’t wanted it to be like this. He’s only met the man a few times, and… well, Ardyn hadn’t exactly given off wholesome vibes.  

         ‘How did… How did you?’ Pretend to be Noct, is what he thinks, but it doesn’t need to be said.    

         ‘Come now, I can’t tell you all my secrets, can I?’ Ardyn’s smile is saccharine. Prompto’s heart thuds in his chest. He’s well aware he’s splayed out, wrists to the headboard, body wide open, and he doesn’t want to anger the man and fuck, again, why does that excite him? 

         He ignores the blood racing to his groin and focusses. Tries to figure the man out.   

         ‘Is that some kind of, uh, magic? Or, like, am I hallucinating right now?’      

         Ardyn outright laughs at this. ‘You poor, confused thing. Well, I must admit, it’s rather a shock to see for the first time. But you enjoy this, don’t you?’       

         The stroke along his cheek, the stubble gracing his skin once again makes it obvious what Ardyn wants.    

         ‘Dude, couldn’t you have just… Y’know. Asked.’ 

         Ardyn gives him a look that clearly means he doesn’t understand the question.

         _Goddamn, this guy._ __

Fear joins the warmth spreading through him — an odd combination of peril and excitement. He kind of hates it.

         Maybe, if he plays it nice, he’ll get out of this okay.

         ‘Ardyn…’        

         ‘Hush, now.’ Ardyn’s voice is a low rumble and there’s something about the way his hand grips Prompto’s side that makes him not want to risk disobeying. ‘You know, Prompto, you talk far too much.’ Ardyn’s lips meet his in a punishing kiss, stealing his breath and pushing his head cruelly into the headboard. He kisses him again and again, until Prompto’s lungs are straining, until he’s moaning and muttering for relief, and then he kisses him some more. And still, the chains keep Prompto held fast, unable to escape.       

         ‘I want you to enjoy this,’ Ardyn murmurs in a rare break from his onslaught. ‘After all, we have the rest of the night to go.’

 

 


	6. Red

 

‘Did your grandmother really let you go alone? Through _these_ woods?’

         Prompto backed up. The wolf had appeared out of nowhere, frightening him so much he’d nearly dropped the basket with its precious contents.       

         He gripped tighter on the basket’s handle, and eyed the wolf warily. Blood-red hair, darker than Prompto’s own cloak, formed an elegant yet scruffy mane, and gave the impression of a predator content to revel in his own spoils of the hunt.

         ‘I… she couldn’t come with me.’ 

         ‘And you have no-one else? What a pity.’ The wolf smirked, flashed his teeth, and those yellow eyes looked ravenous enough to destroy him. ‘My dear, you are such a delicious morsel. What an oversight on your grandmother’s part.’

         Prompto ignored the dangerous thrum in his veins, and stepped ever further away, carefully, carefully, until he felt the small of his back hit the gnarled trunk of a tree. He stumbled, cracking twigs under his feet, and the sharp sound broke the spell. He bolted.

         A dark grin spread over the wolf’s face and in a flash the creature was upon him, pressed up against him, pinning him between bristling flesh and ancient, flaking bark.

         He struggled, trying to avoid the inevitable attack, but the wolf did not go in for the kill. Instead he pressed harder, and Prompto paled when he felt the firm erectness of the wolf’s cock against his stomach. When it pulsed, the first thing he felt was a grim sort of excitement, which gave way quickly to terror. A desire to pull away, if only he could.

         This was not going to end well.

         A sharp tug, and the wolf unveiled the hood of his cloak. ‘Well, fancy that. Little Red is a perfect blond,’ he murmured, and Prompto shivered. One sharp-clawed hand worked its way up to grip his chin, examine his face, turning it this way and that, digging in hard enough to draw blood. ‘But let’s change that, shall we? I much prefer red.’


	7. As The World Falls Down

 

Prompto wasn’t feeling like himself, that much he knew. How he was suddenly wearing something so finely-tailored was also beyond him. All around, faces, raised voices; in a word, overwhelming. Why, how, where, all questions escaped him and he did the only thing he could: he stepped forward, trying to make sense of the sparkling and heady new world he found himself in.

         Dancers twirled close by, and they were undoubtedly human, but wore masks like daemons. Some even wore the impassionate masks of MTs. All of them seemed distorted, grotesque, and left him with a sickly feeling in his stomach. He fiddled idly with the fine detail on the cuff of his impossibly white suit jacket, and leaned out of the way as a dancer whirled by, the ugly long nosed face of an imp too close.

         Avoid. Move forward. And for the love of god, stop feeling so drunk and sickly.

         He edged round a table laden with appetising food, gourmet to the point of making him want to throw up. Then, a ghostly sensation of fingers tracing along his jawline, making him shiver and turn around. Disturbing, how his normally sharp actions seemed laboriously slow, dulled as if by alcohol. Only, he didn’t remember drinking any.

         Prompto wasn’t thinking about the names of his friends. He wasn’t thinking about his mission. All he was thinking about was how to find an exit to this disorienting ballroom.

         And there, in the far corner of the room, shrouded behind an array of ghastly dancers, was something that snagged at his mind, drew his attention, like a light. He’d played enough survival horror games to know that light meant exit. Good game design. Why this thought presented itself to him while other thoughts were obscured, he had no idea. But for now, he’d accept it. He moved forward.

         The crowd parted, giving him snide looks and suggestive glares. An elaborate frilled fan moved aside, and that was when he saw him. The Solheim Healer, the Accursed King, decked out in finery to rival and even exceed his own. Hair red and dark as the wine the revellers swilled from their cups, falling over a bejewelled and ornate midnight black suit. Runnels of blue fabric ran through it, making it spark with energy. The man was magnetic, and Prompto quite forgot the animosity he was meant to have toward him. He walked forth as if in a daze, while the music around him rose, grew more melodic, more enrapturing. The Accursed King stretched out his hand, and Prompto, open-mouthed and entirely under his spell, took it. When the Accursed spoke, it was sweet honey.

         ‘Do me the pleasure of accepting this next dance.’

           


	8. Volt

 

Ardyn was a fool to think this time would be like the last. He couldn’t place the exact moment it changed, but now here he was, restrained upon the rig and completely under the young gunman’s sway. How had he let down his guard?

         Prompto stood over him, a satisfied smile decorating his face, still so boyish even after all these years. But he was far from innocent, and Ardyn liked to think he’d played a part in that.

         He kept up his confident aura. Admittedly, he was curious to see what Prompto was going to do next. So he said, ‘Killing me won’t work.’

         ‘Oh. I know. That’s not my aim.’

         The blush of rage on the boy’s face spoke volumes for his dedication. Oh, imagine the shame, the self-hatred and loathing that he must have navigated to bring him here, to this triumphant point.

         ‘I’m very proud of you, you know.’

         The resultant kick was sharp and swift, and Ardyn choked out a laugh.

         ‘Shut up.’ Prompto gritted his teeth, and came closer, pressing over the sore spot on his ribs with merciless intent. He certainly seemed to enjoy seeing him in pain, but Ardyn held his tongue this time.

         Then he — wait, what was he doing? Casting Ardyn’s waistcoat wide open, unbuckling his belt, tugging layers of fabric apart. His hands slipped beneath, roving over Ardyn’s skin, and he would be forgiven for thinking it gentle, if not for the thrumming of energy beneath Prompto’s touch. All his rage, barely contained.

         He delved in lower, taking hold of Ardyn’s cock with a firm grip. A squeeze, then he began to rub, softer and softer until Ardyn began to buck. A thrill ran through his body, and he strained on the rack. Metal, digging in to his wrists – too sharp, too biting. He relaxed. Fell under Prompto’s sway.

         ‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ Prompto muttered. He slapped him hard, gripped his chin like Ardyn had once done to him, and oh, his eyes were more aflame than ever.

         He returned to stroking his shaft, motions so tender, coaxing him ever closer to the edge. Then, a break in the touch, and the silvery sharp pain of a rod being inserted, keeping him hard. Soft, sticky sensation of pads on sensitive skin. Wires dangling, tickling his thighs. The threat of the spark.

         ‘Kind of a curse, living forever. Let’s see how long you can keep it up. I mean, maybe if Noct comes back he’ll put you out of your misery.’

         A grim smile from Prompto, then he flipped the switch, and left.

 


	9. Extraction

**V:**

**It doesn’t make sense… Why isn’t it working?**

**A:**

**If I may…**

**(pause)**

**V:**

**You! What brings you to interrupt me?**

**A:**

**Merely checking up on how my dear scientist is doing.**

**V:**

**Help. Or go.**

**A:**

**Not going too well, is it?**

**V:**

**(sighs)**

**V:**

**No.**

**A:**

**Perhaps I may be of assistance. Trying to improve upon the matrix for the next batch, are you?**

**A:**

**Well, it just so happens that the key to fixing your genetic mishap –**

**V:**

**It’s not a genetic ‘mishap,’ Chancellor. Don’t forget these are cloned from my own genetic material - I won’t stand for you calling it such a thing.**

**A:**

**As you wish. But I can help you… ‘improve’ it then, if that’s the word you prefer.**

**V:**

**How?**

**A:**

**As I was saying. The key is roaming around this very facility, as we speak. Would you like me to bring him in?**

**V:**

**Him?**

**(pause, swishing of fabric, footsteps)**

**A:**

**You recall many years ago, during the preliminary stages of your Magitek experiments, that a babe was stolen from incubation under your very nose?**

**V:**

**Ugh. I remember.**

**A:**

**Good. Well, this shall be a reunion indeed, for he has returned to us. At long last.**

**V:**

**(sharp intake of breath)**

**V:**

**The child is returned? It… it was one of the 0500 models…**

**A:**

**Indeed.**

**V:**

**Ah, that genetic material is exactly what I need to create the necessary variation in the alleles. Genetic recombination. Follow? To generate traits unseen in the parent material, one must re-anneal the strands, perform a resection, allow strand invasion…**

**A:**

**Oh yes, you ought never to doubt your faith in my knowledge when it comes to Magitek, dear Verstael.**

**(pause)**

**V:**

**The easiest way to retrieve the information would be via the spermatozoa. Mm. Good. That’s easy enough. A true stroke of good luck, this. It’ll improve everything about my latest model, yes…**

**(pause)**

**V:**

**So. Obtaining the specimen?**

**A:**

**I shall oversee that.**

**V:**

**As you wish. Just get it done.**

**(more fabric rustling, movement, tapping on glass)**

**A:**

**Oh, Prompto, do come out! I know you’re hiding there!**

**(silence)**

**A:**

**Don’t you have a few choice words for daddy dearest?**

**V:**

**Call me that one more time…**

**A:**

**Hush.**

**(more tapping)**

**A:**

**How rude! Do you not want to have this little family reunion after all? Ah. Well, if you shan’t come out, I shall have to come and get you myself.**

**(doors swishing)**

**(a muffled scream)**

**(static crackling)**


	10. Flytrap

 

All the times Prompto had called Ardyn a monster, he had meant it metaphorically. And yet, here he is, cornered in this crumbling courtyard by a no-shit honest-to-god devil in the flesh. The frayed, wisplike red hair is unmistakeably Ardyn’s, but the rest is a nightmarish collage of limbs and tendrils slithering out from a shroud of darkness. His eyes are the colour of tallow, and fluid leaks from the sclera, dark and thick as treacle.

        ‘I didn’t expect you to make it all the way to the Keep,’ Ardyn says, and his voice, normally soft as sugar, is deep and hoarse and rumbling.

        Prompto says nothing; he just stares, ready to bolt. He’s too cagey and he knows it’s written in his every shallow breath, he knows Ardyn’s taking note.

        ‘You did well. Why don’t you step a little closer?’ Despite the throatiness, there’s this terrifying whining edge to his voice, and Prompto doesn’t want to wonder how being part-monster might affect the man’s inhibitions, but too late. He’s thinking it. And he’s terrified.

        ‘I’m fine here,’ he croaks out thickly.

        A screech like crows cawing, a flutter of fabrics, of leather, of wings, and the darkness is upon him. Clammy hands grip his upper arms, thrust him to the floor with little ceremony. Back hits cracked paving with a dull thud. Spikes of brittle things long dead catch on shirt fabric, dig into his vertebrae. A gunshot resounds off the shattered brick wall and Prompto blinks in shock - his attempt at self-defence has glanced through Ardyn like it was nothing. The hole in the writhing black mass before him vibrates momentarily, before filling up with more shadow like the shot had never been placed.

        Then tentacles slip from the folds of the shadow, curling round his midriff, his thighs, his neck. Sliding beneath fabric before hoisting it out of the way. Teasing down below the belt, and soon his skin feels coated in dark slime as a smell like saltwater taffy rises. It’s revolting. He’s going to be sick - his throat feels soured like he’s been drinking, and his stomach’s busy dropping away beneath him. He splutters and twists his body fervently, as if that will give him a window to escape. These thick appendages are too muscly, too numerous, spilling from the dark heart of the devil like baby spiders from a burst egg sac. He remembers little things like that now, playground mishaps, and finding spiders in his hair two days later. It makes him twitch, makes him spit and shiver. Ardyn pays this no mind, and a tongue that’s many inches too long slithers out and curls round his ear, retracting only to whisper.

        ‘Yes, you’re so very fine right where you are.’


	11. Strip Tease

Prompto scrunches his eyes up tight. He’s not looking, no way.

         Out of all the things Ardyn could have done while he’s strung up on this cross, this is the most unexpected. And by far the most unsavoury. He really doesn’t want to see Ardyn’s naked body.

         Even if he is kind of good-looking.

         He opens one eye hesitantly and instantly regrets it. Ardyn’s done with his waistcoat now and has moved on to that ridiculous frilled shirt. He ignores the surprisingly tantalising sight of chest hairs tufting up as deft hands reveal more ground button by button. Any burning he feels turns swiftly to rage, constricting as tight in his chest as the bonds that hold him. Nothing changes the fact that he fucking hates his guts.

         ‘Why, anyone would think you don’t appreciate this. After all I did, rescuing you from the snow.’

         ‘Rescuing - ’ He spits the word out, but stops just short of cursing.

         ‘Yes, rescuing. You really ought to be thanking me.’

Ardyn all but dances out of the shirt, and drops it to the floor with a twirl and a flick of the wrist. He’s enjoying every second of this, isn’t he? The bastard.


	12. The Hand That Feeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I lied, there's one more drabble after this

My, how the boy suits his collar so well. Ardyn’s made sure to choose one that’s thick and heavy, one that presses on his collarbone and weighs him down, one that will remind him of who he belongs to with every movement.

    Into the leather he’s busy carving the number. 05953234. The little runaway stands, no longer quick and no longer silver, leashed to a post and stripped to his underwear. He holds still as a mannequin while Ardyn works, partly because the knife at his throat is too real a threat (he’s already nicked the skin twice), but partly because Ardyn’s promised he can retain his modesty if he obeys. What a pity he won’t keep such a promise - the boy’s being so good, too.

    This changes when Ardyn holds up the mirror, when he sees the number in its rough-hewn glory. He sobs, and soon the noise grows ugly, far too ugly for such a pretty face. 

    ‘Shh,’ Ardyn says, ‘there’s no need to cry.’ And he strokes Prompto’s cheek, fusses him incessantly, as if it would stop the sniffling.

    The bite, when it comes, is a surprise.

    Ardyn yanks the leash, dragging a choke from his pet, and when he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous, although he’s still chuckling away inside. This really is too precious.

    ‘If you don’t calm down, I’ll add a muzzle.’


	13. Eclipse

 

Prompto hasn’t been awake all that long when his lonely vigil in the cell is interrupted.

         He’s standing by the security panel when it happens, staring down at his bared wrist in shock, trying to understand why the barcode is glowing. The air turns tight and constricting, like he’s gotten caught in the midst of one of his gravisphere projectiles. The feeling of a shadow at his back, a feeling that makes him turn hesitantly, and when he sees the man in his shroud of grey fabrics and his unkempt, dried-wine hair, he can’t keep from flinching. Ardyn. Figures he’d be here.

         He curses.

         Ardyn greets him with a laugh and a wave of the hand. Then he moves closer, taking up an exponentially bigger fraction of Prompto’s world with each step, until he eclipses him like the moon across the sun. Darkness clustering in, casting a soft vignette over the blue, clinical room.

         A sharp intake of breath from Prompto, because he’s been caught off-guard and his first reaction is one of pure, surprised hatred. Immediately after this, the fear sets in, the realisation he’s all alone with the instigator of every hellish moment that’s befallen him since Altissia. The natural thing to do is whimper, make small noises that mirror his small stature. And it’s hard not to. Ardyn is tall, as tall as Gladio, and his shoulders are just as large and broad. Prompto’s vulnerable, scared, and so very out of his depth.

         Ardyn watches him with amusement. He takes his time as he strides forward, all limber despite his size, and the motions seem to Prompto as fluid and deadly as a snake cornering its prey. He doesn’t take his eyes off Ardyn’s face even for an instant.

         His muscles are tensed as Ardyn summons his gun out of mid-air, and he’s ready to react, to fight or try to flee, but Ardyn does the unexpected and pushes the gun to his breast.

         He gasps. Then Ardyn smirks, takes the gun away.

         ‘Ah, ah…’ He tuts softly, mouth falling open in mock surprise. ‘I have yet to hear a thank you for rescuing you from the snow.’

         ‘Wh-what?’

         ‘Don’t tell me the blizzard affected your sense of hearing quite that much?’

         That taunting, purring voice has him bristling, has him up in arms and ready to rebel. He doesn’t want to deal with Ardyn’s games. Not here. Not now.

         ‘I didn’t ask you to rescue me.’ The words are more acidic than he intends, but he doesn’t care enough to bite back on it. Ardyn makes a sound that’s somewhere between a choke and a gasp, too jocular to be true shock.

         ‘So cold you’ve become! And I even brought you all the way home, too.’

Prompto narrows his eyes, looks up at the daemon above him, still trying not to play. Steel in his voice, he says, ‘I don’t owe you anything.’

         He’s backed against the wall and Ardyn reaches out to pat down the collar of his jacket. ‘That’s a shame.’

         Ardyn presses up against him and he doesn’t react quickly enough - he’d imagined he’d be able to slip aside, but there’s too much in the way; those strange tanks on the one side, the security panel on the other. Nonetheless, he tries. It earns him an idle, playful shove. Ardyn doesn’t need to apply all that much pressure to manipulate his small frame back against the wall.

         ‘My, oh my. Where are those good manners of yours?’ Ardyn holds fast his shoulders and gazes down on him, leaning in enough to allow that dark red hair to tickle his nose. ‘Shall we try again?’

         Prompto squirms, tries to extricate himself, but his head’s on about the same level as Ardyn’s chest and his muscular arms are still narrow enough to grab with little fuss on Ardyn’s part. He’s shoved back into place firmly, and he feels like a grain of sand next to a mountain.

         ‘Don’t be like that,’ Ardyn says, grabbing a fistful of his hair, pressing into it and sniffing as if appreciating a delicate flower. It makes Prompto’s stomach roil in revulsion. He doesn’t want to say thank you. He doesn’t want to give Ardyn any more satisfaction. Already too late for that. Ardyn smiles down upon him, and his stomach sinks like a stone, he knows this is his last opportunity to play nice when Ardyn strokes a thumb across his lower lip and says, ‘Only good boys get their toys.’

 


End file.
